


Hunters and Huntsmen

by AlSoto1099



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bloodborne Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Dreams and Nightmares, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Multi, Or Is It?, Pre-Volume 3 (RWBY)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-01-30 09:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12650508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlSoto1099/pseuds/AlSoto1099
Summary: The Dream has faded, the contract has been fulfilled.  Free of the nightmare, a young Hunter must find his way.Originally posted on ff.net





	1. Loose Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoy this, bc I've been working on this since 10th grade and have rewritten it twice. Seriously though, I hope this is something you all can appreciate and enjoy, despite the obvious trashiness inherent within a crossover fic.

The Hunter sits at the edge of the beach, his bare feet soaking in the icy water. The rain continues to bear down on him, plastering his hair to his skin in damp rattails. He moves his hand to his face, brushing a curtain of white over his left eye. His gaze remains affixed on the empty grey sky. The shattered moon, one present in the entirety of this nightmare, had long since disappeared, a sign of this dream’s imminent collapse maybe?  
He takes a breath, filling his lungs with the chilled air. The coolness fills his chest, calming his nerves and settling his mind. Exhaling, the Hunter looks to his weapon. Maria’s Rakuyo, nicked and scratched, still stood in the moist sand. Dark blood drips from the cross guard of the blade, staining the ground beneath it. The foul scent, present in the blood of all Kin, was no longer noticeable; its presence, just like the orphans, had long since been leached away by the sea.  
He lifts the flap of his pocket and reaches inside, running his hand along the chain clipped to his belt. He stops as his fingers find the smooth edges of his watch. Wrapping his fingers around the shell, he pulls the trinket from his pocket, holding it out in front of him. The light glints off the surface as he turns it over in his hand. The golden shell was still undamaged, sheltered from the elements by the lining of the Hunter's pocket and cleaned almost obsessively.  
He pushes down on the latch release, popping the cover open with a small ‘click’. His fingers run over the face of the watch, wiping away the drops of rain splashing against it. The arms continue to tick behind the cracked glass, rotating slowly around their anchor point.  
“4:08,” It reads.  
The Hunter shifts his attention to the other half of the watch, running his thumb over the small picture adhered to the interior of the lid. He traces along the edge, along the faded shape of the girl's face, a face he did not know. She smiled at him, teeth bright against her dark skin. He recognized himself beside her, even with the head of short black hair he wore. His narrow face was absent of the scars he’d acquired, a sign of better times no doubt.  
He sighs, disappointed in himself. He knew nothing, not of his home, not of his family, not even his own name. The Hunt had taken it all, slowly robbing him of his memories until nothing remained but the echoes of his slain foes. Time and time again he’d sift through the miasma filling his mind, hoping to find something of himself beneath the pained screams.

* * *

_The candlelight was dim, but it was enough. The sound of his pen scratching the paper was nearly drowned out by her snoring. God, she was loud. He’d be irritated if it wasn’t so adorable._  
_He stops, setting his pen down and looking over the paper. So far so good; each note was place, and everything seemed as though it would play smoothly. He shuts his eyes and hums, imagining the sound of the piano as his fingers dance along the keys. The crowd was going to love this, they would have to._  
_“Bubbie?”_  
_He turns towards the small voice, finding her standing just behind him. Her small hands push the wild brown curls around as she rubs the sleep from her eyes._  
_“Hey,” He says softly, standing from his chair. “What are you doing out of bed? It’s late.”_  
_“I had a bad dream,” She says. Her voice shakes, barely holding back frightened tears. He smiles warmly, holding his arms out. She jumps into him, hugging him tightly and burying her face into his chest. He runs his hand in a circle over her back, rocking back and forth._  
_“It’s alright,” He coos, “It was just a dream, nothing more. Dreams can’t hurt you.”_  
_“I’m scared,” She says, voice muffled by his shirt. She shakes slightly. “I don’t wanna go to bed alone.”_  
_He sighs, pressing a soft kiss onto the top of her head._  
_“How about I play you a song? Would that help?”_  
_She nods, still clinging to him._  
_“Alright, come on.”_  
_“Can you carry me?”_  
_Sighing, he pulls himself from her grip and turns around, kneeling._  
_“How about you ride on my shoulders?”_  
_He knows she’s smiling, she always did when they did this. She climbs onto his back, nestling herself onto his shoulders. A weight presses against the top of his head, and her small hands creep down to his hair, looping the dark locks around her fingers._  
_“Why is our hair so different?” She asks as they walk down the hall. The light of the candelabras dance quietly as he considers his answer._  
_“Well,” He starts, unsure of how to word his response. “We take after our parents, you and I, but at the same time, there are traits you inherited that I didn’t.”_  
_“Some of the kids say it’s because of Mama.”_  
_The air hitches in his throat._  
_“Don’t listen to them,” He says. His tone was deeper now, more commanding._  
_“But the things they say about our mama-”_  
_“Don’t matter.” He interrupts. Let them talk; their words mean nothing.”_  
_An uncomfortable silence passes between the two._  
_“Okay.” She finally says. Her tone was quieter, depressed almost. Had he sounded too stern?_  
_Entering the foyer, he slowly shuts the door behind them before turning towards the center. He drops to his knees, letting her slide off his back._  
_“What song would you like me to play?” He asks, taking her hand and guiding her to the piano._  
_“What about the one mama used to play?”_  
_He nods, lifting her and setting her down on the bench. He takes a seat next to her, lifting the cover and unveiling the smooth ivory keys._  
_“Let’s see,” He says softly, fingers arched, and arms raised. He exhales slowly before bringing his fingers down against the piano. A soft chord echoes through the room, slowly fading into the darkness. He presses another set of keys, maintaining a gentle pace as he settles into a rhythm. Each tap of the keys loosens his arms, leaching away the tension as the music begins to envelop him. Just out the corner of his eye he can see her, swaying with him._  
_He strikes the final chord, holding the note and breathing heavily as it slowly fades._  
_A familiar itch forms in his throat as he catches his breath. Almost instinctively he pulls a white cloth from his shirt pocket, pressing it to his mouth as he begins coughing. Pain scrapes against his chest with each muffled hack._  
_“Dammit,” He wheezes. He pulls the cloth from his mouth, staring, wide eyed, at the red stain. It was getting worse._  
_“Bubbie, are you alright?”_  
_He looks to her, smiling warmly. His arm snakes around as he pulls her into a hug._  
_“I’m fine” He says, “Just a cough.”_  
_Picking her up, he cradles her small body in his arms as he rises from the bench, he makes his way to the door._

* * *

The Hunter sits upright gasping for air as his chest constricts. His body straightens as his arms extend, his hands grasping at the empty space around him.  
_Dammit._  
His stomach knots as he tries to catch his breath, twisting and churning as clouds of steam rise from his mouth with each shallow heave. He falls forward, head low and mouth open. A mass of bile falls from his mouth, caking into the sand. He falls to the side, rolling onto his back as his breathing slows.  
When would this end? When would he be free of this damned nightmare?  
He must've been sitting there for hours before the tugging became noticeable. He lifts his head and looks to the side. A messenger sits beside him, its small hands holding onto his sleeve.  
"Is there something you need?" His voice falters as he draws in a shaky breath. The creature releases his sleeve and cocks its head, standing idle as it stares up at him. Odd, could it tell he was distress?  
"I'm fine," He says, more to himself than anything. The messenger nods and points behind itself, its arm shaking impatiently.  
"What is it?" The Hunter asks, sitting up and looking to where the creature was pointing. He follows the aim of its finger to the lantern, bulb dark and lifeless. Was it sent from the dream to summon? Or perhaps something else?  
“I really wish you could speak," He groans, leaning forward and reaching for his boots. He tugs them on, the leather sticking and pulling against his still wet feet. He grabs the laces and pulls them tight, tying them securely and standing.  
"I suppose the Old Man wants me to pay a visit." He remarks, tensing slightly. What could the old Hunter possibly want now?  
Turning away from the ocean, the Hunter makes his way towards the lamp. He averts his gaze as he passes Kos’ boy, guilt pulling at his chest. He had done nothing wrong, the events that trapped this Hamlet inside the nightmare had occurred decades before he was even born.  
Yet the guilt remained.  
The Hunter stops in front of the lamp, dropping to his knees for a closer look at the bulb. Even from the shore he could tell it was still unlit. The question was why? Lighting these lanterns had become second nature, a ritual almost. A way to calm himself after slaughtering his prey. Was he beginning to lose himself?  
Shaking his head, the Hunter stands, extending his arm towards the lamp and pressing his fingers together. With a snap, a small flame appears within the bulb, spreading a circle of calming warmth across the ground.  
Kneeling, the Hunter holds his hand above the bulb, as though offering himself to the dream. A cold light surrounds him as the ground begins to froth, icy hands crawling up his body. He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly as the void begins to take him.

* * *

The inky blackness of sleep gives way to a red stained ceiling. The Hunter sits upright, gagging as a foul scent reaches into his throat. The stench was familiar; a mix of rotted flesh and stagnant blood. This wasn't the dream, far from it.  
Water drains from his sleeves as he stands, splashing onto the ground as though there were a lake below him. He looks to his feet, finding at least half of the cause for the foul stench currently assaulting him. He had awoken ankle deep in a pool of blood.  
He looks around the room; piles of bodies surround him, mashed into the walls and floor. Crimson stained skeletons and skinned corpses still writhe in pain as the crushing weight of the mounds wrings the blood from their veins. He recalls first entering this chamber, finding the source of the bloody river that ran through the nightmare, as well as the beast that had created it.  
The Hunter turns away from the bodies, coughing as the acrid scent reaches into his throat once again. Blood splashes around his ankles as he walks towards the stairs. He stops, eye caught by large shadow, silent and unmoving.  
Ludwig.  
The shaft of an arrow protrudes from his eye; a clean shot to the brain. Simon must’ve come through before their meeting in the lecture hall. He steps closer, staring down at the severed head with a mix of pity and anger. He was a twisted shadow of the Hunter he once was, warped by the blood and the nightmare.  
No one deserved such a fate.  
And yet he and his Hunters were the reason for the nightmare's existence, the reason for the curse the Hunters now suffered. He was a beast, through and through.

* * *

_"Good Hunter of the Church," A voice calls out, hoarse and sickly as its owner wheezes. The Hunter stands, swinging his arm around and aiming his blunderbuss towards the stairs behind him. The scent of blood still clouds the air, no way of telling if it's man or beast, no way of knowing whether it was friend or foe._  
_"Have you seen the light?" The voice asks. Curious, the Hunter takes a cautious step forward. His feet skim the surface of the bloody pool with each step, carefully touching down to not make a splash. He stretches his thumb to the top of his blunderbuss, slowly hooking it inside the hammer and pulling it back._  
_Moving closer to the small staircase, the Hunter stops as the voice's owner comes into view. Ludwig's head lay on its side in the corner, mouth open as he sucks in shallow breaths. His milky eye twitches wildly, looking for something, for someone. It lands on the Hunter, shaking as it looks him over._  
_"I'm not-"_  
_"Are my Church Hunters the honorable Spartans I hoped they would be?"_  
_The Hunter closes his mouth, sucking on his teeth as he struggles to summon the words. He should tell him. He deserved to know that the Church had failed, that his Hunters had fallen into madness. Yet, what purpose would that serve? What purpose would it serve to tell a dying man that his life's work was meaningless?_  
_Dammit_  
_"Yes," He finally answers._  
_"Ah, good..." Ludwig sighs, the hint of a smile forming at the corners of his stretched lips. "That is a relief, to know I did not suffer such denigration for nothing." His words were slower, more drawn out than before._  
_"Thank you kindly.” He sighs, “Now I may sleep in peace." He pauses, eyes closing as he slips away. "Even in this darkest of nights, I see...the moonlight..."_  
_The muscles in his face relax as his consciousness fades. His lower lip falls to the ground, practically hanging from the bone of his jaw as he begins to snore._

* * *

Staring down at the severed head, the Hunter sneers. A glob of saliva flies from his mouth and lands on the beast's horse like snout. Liars and murderers, all of them. Sacrificing others to achieve their goals, and eliminating anyone who dared to try and find their secrets.  
"Bastards,"  
The glint of the steel shaft catches his eye once more. He raises a brow, perhaps the arrowhead was still attached.  
Kneeling, the Hunter reaches for the arrow, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and tugging. The arrow remains firmly lodged within its mark. Simon must've shot him point blank.  
With his other curled around the metal shaft and his left foot planted firmly on Ludwig's snout, he pulls once more. With a sickening squelch, the arrow comes free, the quicksilver removed along with it. He unscrews the bullet, storing it in his pocket and tossing the shaft aside.  
At least in death, these Hunters were helpful.  
The Hunter moves towards the stairs, hands resting comfortably in his pockets. He stops himself as he reaches the lantern. He was here for a reason, wasn’t he? He would not have been brought here simply to collect a measly bullet.  
_Brinnng_  
His blood freezes at the familiar sound. A beckoning bell, it had to be. And not just any bell.  
_Brinnng_  
His hand shakes as his fingers curl into a tight fist, his purpose for coming now apparent. He was still alive; the Beast-Hide hunter. The same man who had murdered Simon, the Phantom that had accosted in the hamlet.  
The Church’s damned assassin.  
_Brinnng_  
He walks towards the stairway, holding his arm out to his side. The ground bubbles and froths as a thin blade rises, carried up by the messenger's small arms. The Hunter grips his Rakuyo with both hands and pulls, separating the saber from the dagger mounted on its pommel. He climbs the stairs, listening for the ring of the bell as he searches for the Assassin's phantom.  
_Brinnng_  
The ringing grows louder as the Hunter turns the corner. He stops, gazing down the darkened hallway. The walls were lined with cell doors; some opened, and some still closed. No longer a low hum surrounding him, the Hunter could now hear the bell's chime echoing from down within the Assassin's cell. He walks closer, each step echoing through the corridor.  
_Brinnng_  
A red mist forms over the floor in front of him, swirling slowly as the last ring fades out. The Assassin’s phantom rises from the fog; eyes hidden behind the beast hide cowl, hand clenched tightly around the monstrous mace and blood dripping from his matted beard. Custom would dictate he bow before a duel, a sign of honor between Hunters.  
But custom did not apply to monsters such as this.  
Exhaling, the Hunter lunges towards his mark. His blade cuts upwards, slicing through the Assassin’s stomach. The sweet scent of fresh blood washes over him as the warm fluid sprays from the wound, coating the wall and ceiling. The Assassin's feet shift and the Hunter steps back; barely avoiding the mace as it crashes into the floor, shattering the stone tiles beneath it.  
Legs bent, he kicks himself farther back; feet sliding against the slick tiles as the distance between him and his opponent increases. His eyes narrow, searching for an opening he could exploit. A tell, a limp, something. The beast hide cowl decapitation impossible, and direct attacks to the back would be ineffective as well.  
A sharp pain knocks the Hunter back into reality. Blood sprays from his mouth as the force of the strike knocks him back. He hits the floor, rolling to a rough stop.  
_Dammit, I need to focus._  
Standing, he spits out the blood pooling in his mouth. He had been careless, sloppy. There was no room for such error in his work. Strategy be damned, he would end this now.  
Lunging forward once more, the Hunter slashes downward. The edge of his blade collides with the fins of the mace, sending the Rakuyo sliding off to the left. The Hunter leans to the side, swinging his blade up and around. Sparks fly as it strikes the mace once more, bouncing off with a grating 'clang'. Needles jab the nerves in the Hunter's arm as the shock travels up to his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he continues his attack. Blood coats the walls as the two Hunters clash. Hacked flesh and shredded cloth fly from the center of the battle with each strike.  
The Hunter ducks under a swing, his heart rising to his throat as the head of the mace sails over him. He thrusts the blade forward, driving the steel deep into the Assassin's abdomen. Tightening his grip, the Hunter twists the blade and wrenches it to the side. He steps around his opponent, coating himself in the massive splash of blood spraying from the fresh wound. This was it, he had him.  
The dagger spins in the hand, carried by his fingers as his arm snakes around the Assassin's throat. He pulls his arm back, bringing the tip of the blade towards his opponent's carotid artery. One quick push and it would be over.  
Fingers wrap around the Hunter's fist, stopping it and pulling the blade away. He fights against it, pulling his arm against the man’s strength. His hand remains in his opponent’s iron grip; the pressure slowly increasing and hot pain crawling along his arm.  
In the edge of his sight, the Hunter Assassin mace rising, head angled downwards towards his stomach. His blood runs cold as the mace is plunged towards its target. He hunter steps to the side, twisting his arm into an unnatural angle as he pulls away.  
Blood sprays from the Assassin's back, accompanied by a low-pitched shriek. The head of the mace emerges; longer, and far more sinister in appearance than before. Spikes of bloodstone adorn the large ball at the end of the weapon's lengthened shaft. It shifts upward, carried by its wielder's weight as he falls to his knees. He heaves, regurgitating bright red blood onto the stone tiles. The Assassin coughs and raises his hand, reaching towards his cell. His arm smacks against the ground as his body goes limp.  
"Dammit," The Hunter hisses, clutching his hand. Red hot pain burns through the broken bones, setting his nerves on fire. He inhales through his nose, loudly sucking in air as he holds his mouth shut. He releases his hand and reaches into his pocket. He pulls something out; a small glass vial. Dark red liquid swirls around the container, splashing behind a yellowed label.  
"Ministration Blood" It reads  
Biting down on the cork, the hunter pulls the top of with an audible 'pop. The needle shines in the dim light. He inhales sharply as he jabs it into his thigh, breaking the seal of the vial. The blood drains into his veins, sending a euphoric wave through his system.  
He grunts as the medicine does its work, knitting the shredded skin and shattered bones back together with unnatural speed. It was by no means the worst sensation, but that did not draw away from the pain it induced.  
Sighing as the throbbing subsides, the Hunter opens his hand, working the stiffness from his joints.  
_Better_  
Wiping the blood from his face, the Hunter turns to the Assassin's phantom. The body was gone, transported back to the bell's owner. At his feet lay the two pieces of the Rakuyo dropped and forgotten in his haste. He kneels and picks up the saber, turning it over in his hand and inspecting the blade. Nicks and scratches covered the blade; he’d need to sharpen it soon.  
Returning the weapon to its singular form, the Hunter enters the narrow corridor leading down to the Assassin's cell. He takes each step with caution, his eyes narrowed as they dart back and forth, searching for any trap that may have been set.  
_Brinnng_  
The bell grows louder, echoing through the corridor. He shakes his head; the sound was grating, but letting it distract him was a misstep one couldn't afford to take. He stops, standing before the thick, wooden door. He lowers his head, taking in a deep breath. Whatever was beyond this door, he had to be ready. He shuts his eyes and inhales once more.  
"Do you hear this?" A voice asks from behind the door, accompanied by yet another chime of the bell.  
"Fear the bell's toll." he warns, "For only death awaits prying eyes, and the Church assassins are never far behind."  
The voice breaks into a sinister cackle, bouncing off of the walls and scraping against the Hunter's eardrums. He sneers; this man needed to die.  
Reaching under his coat, he unhooks the key ring from his belt. The numerous keys jingle as he brings them closer to his eyes. Dozens of keys hang from the ring, shaking as the Hunter picks through them. He grips one; a slim iron key, rusted with age. Two teeth protrude from the pin, with the upper tooth extending to the opposite side. He drops the ring, allowing it to hang from the key as he inserts it into the lock and turns it. With a mechanical crank, the door parts from the frame.  
"Well, well, look who's here."  
The Church Assassin sits in the back of the cell, arm resting on his raised knee. The splintered remains of multiple beds surround him. His index finger curls inward, letting the silver bell dangle from his hand. With a slight jerk, the bell rings once more.  
"Welcome to my quarters," The Assassin greets. He makes a gesture, as though he were inviting the Hunter to take a seat.  
"I've never entertained a guest before." He remarks, continuing to ring his bell. The Hunter enters the room, approaching the Assassin. His grip on the Rakuyo tightens.  
"Are you going to kill me?" The Assassin asks. The Hunter remains quiet. "After all you've done, kill me, as if to right your wrongs?" He laughs again, a far more subdued chuckle than before, but a laugh nonetheless.

* * *

The Hunter exits the corridor of cells, descending the steps to the lamp. Blood drips from his Rakuyo, leaving a spotty trailer of dark red behind him. He inhales. He holds the air in his lungs for a moment before releasing it, allowing his posture to relax. Messengers rise from the lamp as he steps closer, reaching up towards the luminescent bulb. He takes a knee, reaching his hand out over the bulb as if he were to grab it. The ground beneath him begins to glow; ashes rise with the beams of light as his eyes grow heavy. He leans forward, allowing the sweet embrace of sleep to take him.


	2. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to Dream, the Hunter speaks with Gehrman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2 y'all, hope you enjoy.

_"Only a few measures left."_

_He continues whispering to himself, hushed voice drowned out by the sound of the piano.  A warning of sorts; telling him to push harder, to end the performance on a high note.   Or was it something else? A reminder maybe, or a reassurance of sorts?  Something to ease the stress of playing, perhaps, to let him know that his window for error was quickly disappearing._

_He takes a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs as his fingers continue to dance across the keyboard.  Now was not the time for doubt or panic.  He had done well so far, he need only press forward to the end._

                " _Two measures now."_

_A knot forms in his chest, just beneath his sternum.  The air in his throat hitches as his arms begin to ache, muscles burning from overexertion.  They shake, they scream, pushing the pain down to his hands, in between his knuckles and fingers.  They beg him to stop, urge him to make a mistake.  Anything to end the strain._

_No._

_He shakes his head and exhales.  He needed to breathe, he needed to focus.  Too much was riding on this, too many people needed the money.  He wouldn’t let them down._

_He takes a breath, slowly inhaling through his nose.  His eyes close, arms loosening as he begins to move with the music.  He shifts the tempo, slowing himself to a smoother, more melodic style.  He exhales, allowing his shoulders to sag slightly as his body relaxes._

_One-and two and three, four.  One-and two and three, four.  His heel taps against the floor, the sole of his shoe clicking like a metronome.  He pushes on, stretching his fingers out as his reaches each key.  His timing had to be perfect.  He presses down on the rightmost pedal, sustaining the chord._

_His fingers move to play the final notes, stopping mere hairs above the keys._

_“Not yet,” He says.  The chord echoes through the theatre, slowly fading._

_Two seconds._

                " _Hold,"_

_Three seconds._

                " _Hold"_

_Five seconds_

_Now!_

_He plays the chord, fingers crashing against the keys._

_His fingers tense as he attacks the keys once more.  He cuts it off, pulling his hands away and raising them above his head. With a flourish, he pulls his arms back, extending them behind himself.  The music fades, leaving the hall dead quiet._

_Silence...not good._

_Sweat drips from his forehead, landing on the keys as his breathing grows heavy.  He’d screwed up, he must have.  Why else would they be dead silent?_

                ' _Clap...Clap'_

_The clapping starts slow, possibly only one or two people applauding out of the entire audience. Soon it begins to speed up, gaining traction within the crowd as they rise, one by one. Growing progressively louder and more enthusiastic by the second, the audience soon erupts into a storm of acclaim; clapping, screaming, possibly even a whistle or two. His chest tightens; they liked his playing._

_He raises his head, unsure if he was truly hearing what he thought.  They were applauding him.  He turns to look at the crowd; not just applauding, a standing ovation.  They…liked his music?_

_He would be lying if he said that he hadn't expected for some people to enjoy his piece.  Music was such a broad medium, it’d be possibly for something to be universally despised.  But this, this was a shock._

_He stands, dizzy and nauseous.  His legs shake as he leans forward, bowing.  It was a professional bow, long and deep, leaving his head low enough for his bangs to brush against the floor, but it was also one filled with emotion. He shakes as he rises, nearly falling as his knees begin to give out. He catches himself, putting his left leg out to the side before turning and disappearing behind the thick curtain._

                " _That was amazing!" His sister shouts, running up and trapping him in a hug. His spine pops as her arms tighten around him._        

                " _I must agree with the little one," The short woman states "It was a rather enjoyable performance. I'm glad to see you've taken my lessons to heart."_

_He smiles and shrug, words escaping him.  He had, in truth, been lacking in many of her teaching.  His style was far too informal, and his breathing was all over the place._

                " _So how do you feel?" the girl asks, "You must be exhausted."_

_“Exhausted?” He repeats, “After such a mild performance, don’t be…”_

_The room shifts around him, and a hand presses against his temple._

_Dammit, that pain again._

_He takes a step back, barely managing to place his foot on the ground._

                " _Big brother?"_

_"Shay?"_

_The two speak in unison, reaching out towards him as though to catch him. He holds his arm out, waving it dismissively._

                " _I'm fine," He lies, rubbing his temple. "Just a little light headed." He steadies himself and steps forward. "Just…."_

_His leg buckles._

_The room tilts around him as the floor is pulled towards him._

_Voices call out, one screaming his name as the other shouts for help. Who were they? He should recognize their faces, shouldn't he? They were all there, down to the smallest detail. And yet...they would cloud over as he attempted to recall their names._

_A word comes to him. Only a word, yet it felt...significant, for lack of a better description. Perhaps a name?_

                " _Sky…" He croaks out. His throat burned just saying it, the words searing his throat as they passed through._

                " _Sky…” He repeats. More of the word is forced out of his throat this time, numbing the last of the nerves lining it. A hand presses against his forehead as his vision begins to darken._

                " _Skylar…"_

                The Hunter sits up, body jolted from his sleep.  Ragged breaths scrape against his chest as a familiar ache wraps around his head.  A gloved hand slips under the fringe of his hair, massaging the socket of his eye as a familiar pain tightens around his skull.  These migraines were getting worse and worse, but why?

                _“Big brother…”_

His breath hitches as the dream creeps upon him. This dream, he was unfamiliar with it.  A memory, perhaps?  Skylar, Shay, both names uttered in the dream, only one of which he recognized.  He exhales, thinking back to what he saw, attempting to extract some meaning from it before it disappeared into the ether.

_Think, dammit, think!_

                He grips his head as the pain intensifies, constricting around his head, threatening to split it. He sighs, no use.  The dream was gone, faded into the recesses of his mind.  With any luck, it may visit him again.

                Of course, recent events didn't exactly mark him as the "lucky" type.

                Massaging his temples, the Hunter stands, legs unsteady as he turns towards the workshop.  He immediately steps back, wincing as the blinding light sears his eyes. 

                Flames rise into the sky as fire consumes the workshop, crackling and smoking just as any good blaze should.  He wonders how long the house had been burning, and how long it would be before the flames reduced it to ash. 

                " _At least they've added some color to this place."_

                He chuckles softly at his quip, taking some joy in his humor.

                “Good Hunter, welcome home.  What amuses you so?”

                His eyes shift from the fire to the Doll, still standing in her usual spot as though nothing had changed.  He looks her over, noticing the small hint of gold poking out from beneath her cap.  She smiles at him, visibly pleased with his return.  He nods, smiling back at her warmly.  She presses a hand to her mouth, hiding her grin; so kind, so gentle, she was everything this nightmare wasn’t.

                Walking towards her, a mist passes over the Hunter as the messengers relieve him of his weapons and hat, leaving his hands free and hair loose.

                “It is good to see you, Good Hunter.”  She greets, bowing. “Gehrman still awaits you at the foot of the great tree, I know not how long his patience will last.”

                He acknowledges her with a nod.

                "I will make sure to pay him a visit, but I require your assistance first.  These echoes, I must be rid of them.  I fear my mind cannot hold onto them for much longer.

                The Doll nods and smiles once more.

                "Very well," She says, "let the echoes become your strength." She kneels and holds out her hand, offering it to the Hunter. "Let me stand close, now shut your eyes."

                The Hunter steps closer, gently placing his hand in her palm and shutting his eyes, just as instructed. A soothing chill passes over him, travelling deep within his being as the Doll absorbs the echoes of his slain foes. The memories haunting him begin to fade, siphoned into the Doll and replaced with new strength.  She releases his hand and he steps away.   He bows, smiling at the Doll.

                "Farewell, Good Hunter."

                "Farewell."

                Turning away from her, the Hunter makes his way to the base of the incline, walking down the curved path and stopping in front of the large wrought iron gate. He presses his hands against the bars and pushes. The gate creaks open, leaving pale scuffs as the iron bars scrape against the cobblestone. Soon he can push it no further.

                With caution, the Hunter passes through the gate.

                "What is this?" He wonders aloud, his eyes cutting left and right with each step down the pathway. He soon exits the path, passing into the meadow.

_Beautiful_

                Flowers covered rising hill, white petals almost shining under the light of the sky.  They sway in the gentle breeze, rippling like water over the hill.

                The Hunter walks to the hill, eyes set on the numerous wooden crosses dotting the field.  Odd, they must've been set here for a reason, and yet they seemed untended. Dozens of dark green vines coiled around the posts, climbing up to wrap around the wooden arms.  At a glance, they might even seem like people hanging from the posts.

                He stops at the edge of the meadow, kneeling before the wall of gravestones fencing him in.  He reaches a hand out, brushing it across the faded name.  One could only assume it belonged to a Hunter, long dead.  Perhaps there was one for Eileen, or Djura, others taken by this dream.

                His chest tightens, and the Hunter turns away.

                Looking to the tree at the crest of the hill, the Hunter spots Gehrman.  The old man sits in his chair, eyes locked with his pupil’s.  Exhaling, the Hunter makes his way towards him.  Each step presses into bare soil, as though the flowers themselves were leaning away from his feet. 

                Reaching the top of the hill, the Hunter kneels, lowering his head and shutting his eyes.

                "Rise," Gehrman wheezes. The Hunter stands, straightening his posture and staring down at the old man. He takes a step back, placing the two at eye level.

                "You summoned me?"

                "Yes," Gehrman nods, stringy grey hair hanging low. His long fingers curl around his cane as the old man wets his lips.

                "Good Hunter, you've done well, the night is near its end."

                So this meeting was to discuss what to do with him.  The Hunter can’t help but relax his posture, eager for the nightmare to end.

                "Now I will show you mercy." The old man continues, "You will die, forget the dream, and awake under the morning sun."  Moving reflexively at the mention of death, the Hunter steps back, hand reaching for his absent blunderbuss.   Gehrman chuckles softly.

                "Fear not.” He assures, “You will rise in the waking world, unbound by the dream.  You will be freed from this terrible Hunter's Dream."

                The Hunter looks away, considering his options.  The thought of dying again was an unpleasant one, he’d done enough of it throughout his hunt.  What more, why would he release him so willingly?  With the Hunters having gone mad, would it not be wise to hold onto one of the few still able to fight the beasts?

                "Why?" He asks, "Why would you want to sever me from the dream?"

                The old man shakes his head and looks down at the ground, finger tapping against his cane.

                "Tell me, Good Hunter, what is your name?"

                 The Hunter pauses, taken off guard.  His name, did he even remember his name?

                Sighing, Gehrman reaches into his coat. Paper crinkles in his hand as he retrieves something. Arm shaking, the old Hunter pulls out a roll of parchment, ancient and yellowed. He holds it out in front of him, gesturing towards the Hunter.

                "Take this," His voice was far too weak, but the Hunter recognized it as an order. He takes the paper in his hand, gingerly pulling on the string that held it closed.  The tip of Gehrman’s cane taps his hand, stopping him.

                "Not here."

                He stops, looking up from the roll and back to his master.  Was this…

                "This is my contract, isn't it?"

                Gehrman nods.

                “The Blood corrupts all,” He states, “Even the strongest of Hunters cannot escape it.  The madness will take all, memories, mind, it will leach away your very being, until nothing but a beast remains.  This is the fate that awaits all Hunters, a curse we all must bear.”

                 Swallowing the lump in his throat, the Hunter nods.

                 “I see,” He strains to say, “And you wish you to free me from this, no?”

                Gehrman nods once more.

                "I accept"

                A smile stretches across his wrinkled lips, and he nods a final time.

                "Farewell, my keen Hunter."

                "Fear the Old Blood." The chant in unison.  The Hunter pulls his neck warmer down, smiling back at his master.

                "Now kneel."

                Turning, the Hunter takes several steps forward, lowering himself to his knees.  The cool breeze brushes against his skin as he awaits his fate.   A slow, calmed breath passes his lips.  This was it, this was the end.

                The sound of creaking wood breaks the silence, and the Hunter watches the shadow of his master rise from his chair.  He stifles a laugh.

_Always full of surprises._

                The tip of a blade rests beside his neck, swaying slightly as the old Hunter gauges the direction of his strike.  The Hunter exhales once more as the blade is drawn back, and his eyes close. 

                The wind seems to stop as the blade cuts through his neck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what'd you guys think? Let me know in the comments.  
>  I'm serious though, leaves those reviews, I cannot stress that enough, its helpful and encouraging to know you what you guys think.


	3. Within the Waking World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys, my Wi-Fi adaptor broke and the school is the only place I can connect my laptop to the internet. I hope y'all enjoy, it seems quite a few people are starting to read this.

                The Hunter's body shoots upright, eyes wild as pain burrows into his skull.  The morning sun bears down on him, rays of light breaking through the leaves above him. He presses his hands to his head as his body shakes. Too much, everything was too much; the chirping of the birds like needles stabbing at his eardrums, the rays of sunlight scorching his skin.

_Make it stop, please make it stop._

                The ground vanishes as his foot slips to the side; fire giving way to ice as his body crashes into the sound of moving water.  The cold envelops him, pulling him down as he kicks and paddles.  His feet dig into the silt beneath him as his fingers claws at the dirt and roots beside him.

_Cold, ice cold._

Water and dirt spray from his mouth as his head breaches the surface.  He spits into the river between gasps, gagging at the chalky taste.

"Dammit," He hisses, digging his fingers into the soft soil.  He pulls himself forward, struggling against the weight of his soaked garments as they try to pull him back into the stream.  He crawls further towards the trees, chest dragging against the ground and aching with each ragged cough.  Arms shaking, he rolls over; eyes shutting tight as he forces an unsteady breath.  He remains quiet, motionless as the sun dries him.  His eyes open as his clothes begin to detach from his skin.

"What is this place?" He wonders aloud.  He sits up, massaging the ache beneath his eye as he takes in his surroundings. Trees, trees, trees.  Trees everywhere the eye could see.  He’d never seen a forest so dense; even the woods below Yharnam had defined pathways.  This was merely untamed wildland.

Standing, the Hunter for his weapon.  His heart jumps as his fingers grab at the empty space behind him.  He grabs the sling, fingers pressing the soft leather together. 

_No, no, no!_

His hand slips downward towards the holster of his blunderbuss.

He was unarmed.

His hands travel over his body, patting down each pocket and pouch.  He had to have something on him; a knife, a Molotov, hell, he’d settle for a damned pebble.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

He throws his hands up in frustration. Nothing. No weapons, no blood vials, even the knife he had tucked away in his boot was gone. The dream had stripped him of everything but the clothes on his back.

_Wait…_

He pats the top of his head, finding nothing but bits of dirt in his hair.  He looks to the ground, then to the river he had awoken in.

His hat was gone.

"Dammit!" He shouts, voice echoing through the trees.  He falls back, sighing.

_What do I do now?_

He stares up at the branches above him. Orange rays still poke through the leaves, color slowly changing as the Sun shifts its position.  He waits a moment, watching as the vibrancy gradually disappears from the light.

_Still morning, maybe midday._

 If he started moving, maybe he’d be able to find somewhere to hole up before nightfall.  He could think clearly, gather his bearings and form a plan. 

It had to be better than waiting for whatever was in these woods.

Looking to the stream, the Hunter sits ups and watches its movement. 

He stands and walks to the water, dropping to his knees and looking close.  No visible impurities, save for the occasional twig or leaf.  He dips his hand in and scoops some of the water out, bringing it to his lips and sipping.  He swishes it around his mouth, trying to find anything that might be wrong with it.

                Swallowing, he sighs.  It tasted like mud, but was otherwise harmless.  Nothing wrong with it that boiling it wouldn’t fix.  If there was any shelter to be found, it’d be close to this stream.

Standing, the Hunter turns and walks, keeping himself adjacent to the stream. Leaves fold and twigs snap under his boots as he makes his way down the path, his eyes constantly shifting from side to side.  His body tenses at each sound, wary of any potential predator lurking within the trees. He needed to be careful, any slip up could cost him dearly; there were no second chances anymore. He was no longer a Hunter of the dream; his next death would be his last.

The Hunter turns as leaves shake behind him, hand instinctively grabbing for his absent weapon. His body tenses as he searches for the disturbance, looking upward towards the source of the noise. A bird, no bigger than his palm, stands on the grey branches, while leaves float to the ground below it, swaying from side to side as they descend. It must've dropped through the treetops.

The Hunter's muscles ease as he stares at the bird. It was curious breed, with a relaxed swirl of colors layered over one another.

_“Come on,” Sky demands.  Twigs snap and crunch beneath her feet as she runs even further ahead.  Shay follows close behind, chest heaving as he struggles to keep up._

_“I’m coming,” He says, voice shaky.  His hand brushes against the trees, picking off pieces of bark._

_“You’ll never get better if you stay cooped up inside all day.”_

_Such a sweet girl, how was he going to tell her?_

_Shaking his head, Shay pushes onward._

_“Bubbie, come look!”_

_His pace quickens as he follows her voice, pushing through the brush.  The branches scratch against his arms as he pushes them aside._

_“Come on,” Skylar urges._

_“I’m coming, I’m coming.”_

_He pushes into the clearing._

_Skylar stands in the middle, arm held out.  A small bird sits on her finger; a parakeet, or of a similar genus.  It picks at its feathers, shaking the swirl of colors as it nips at itself._

_“Be very quiet,” Shay cautions, making his way to his sister.  His feet press into the grass quietly._

_“Don’t wanna scare it,” He says.  Skylar nods._

_“It’s so pretty,” She whispers, “All these colors, I’ve never seen it before.”_

_“It’s not from here,” Shay notes, “Must’ve gotten free from a carriage.”_

_The bird hops from Skylar’s finger and flies into the trees, disappearing behind the thick curtain of leaves._

_“Wait,” She calls out, chasing after the bird._

_“Sky, wait!” Shay reaches out to stop his sister, grabbing at the empty air.  He tenses, pressing his hands to his head as the pain returns._

_“No,” He hisses, “Not now,” He stumbles forward, and the world shifts around him._

_The world comes back to him in a haze.  Pain shoots through the side of his head as he tries to stand.   Something was on his forehead, something wet.  Mud maybe? He presses a finger to the skin._

_Warm…sticky._

_He pulls the hand away and looks down at the dark red stain.  He must’ve cracked his head on something when he fell._

_“Shay!”_

_He looks towards the voice, Sky?_

_“Shay!”_

_He pushes himself to his feet, breaking into a sprint before he could even catch his breath.  Branches snag and whip against his skin as he passes the trees._

_“Sky!” He calls out, voice shaking with fear._

_“Bubbie! Help!”_

_“Sky!”_

_Please._

* * *

 

"HELP!"

The Hunter takes a step back, trying to maintain his balance as he refocuses himself.  What was that voice?  A dream? A memory?

"SOMEONE, PLEASE!"

The Hunter’s head whips around towards the voice.  That was no dream, no hallucination.  Someone was out there, in trouble.

“PLEASE HELP ME!”

A girl.  What was she doing out here?

_“Bubbie!”_

Oh god.

His mind blanks as he breaks into a sprint, branches snapping as he runs through them.  He needed to hurry; she didn’t sound far off, but there was no way of telling what was causing her distress. 

"HELP ME!" The girl screams again.  Her voice was lower, scratchy and worn, as though her throat was close to giving out.  He had to hurry, he couldn’t let this happen.  Not again.

_"Mr. Hunter"_

The Hunter shakes his head.

"No, no, no, no, no," He mutters, quickening his pace.

He breaks through the foliage, entering a dim clearing.  He freezes for a moment as he sees the source of the problem; a scourge beast, larger than any he’d seen before.  It claws dig into the trunk of the tree as it attempts to reach the girl above it. 

Damn, even this land was tainted by the plague.

"HELP!" The girl cries once more, clinging tightly to the branch. The force of the beast's shaking would knock her off eventually, he had to move fast.

"What do I do," He mumbles. He was unarmed; he had rushed in without an inkling of a plan, and now he was at a loss.  He looks to the forest floor around him. There had to be something he could use.

The beast claws at the tree, shaking it again.  The girl rotates around the branch, leaving her dangling and screaming.

Dammit.

                The Hunter sprints towards the beast, angling his shoulder to its side and ramming into it.  The crunching sound of snapping ribs is muffled by the beasts hide, but still audible.  Something hits the Hunter in his stomach as he and the beast fall, sending him over the creature.  He hits the ground hard, rolling along the dirt.  He presses his feet and hand into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust as he slows himself.  He rises, cracking his shoulder as he watches the beast roll onto its stomach.

The beast snarls as it stands, eyes glaring at the Hunter behind a bone white mask. He falters slightly, unsure of what to make of the creature’s odd appearance.  This was a Scourge Beast, no doubt, but it was…different.  Its dark fur contrasted with the bone protrusions lining its limbs and back, and he hadn’t a clue as to why it wore the mask.  Was this more of the plague’s handiwork?

Without hesitation, the beast lunges, missing the hunter by mere hairs as he steps to the side. Pivoting on its, the beast swipes its claws across his stomach. The Hunter kicks back, distancing himself from the beast.  This wasn’t good.  He’d never be able to simply pummel it to death, he’d learned that when he first awoke in Yharnam.

Stun it.

Dashing towards the beast, the Hunter ducks under its claw and rises, folding his arm and swinging it upward. His elbow strikes the underside of the its jaw, giving a satisfying smack as the creature's head swings upward.

_'Now's my chance,'_

Rearing his arm back, the Hunter dashes around the beast, stopping just beside it. His arm springs forward; fist aimed for the creature's kidneys.  The strike wouldn't do much harm, but it would at least disorient it it. Those few moments would be all he'd need to finish it.

His fist sails forward, rocketing ever closer to its target as the Hunter's eyes widen.  His lips curl into a hungry smile as his vision narrows; his sight set only on his target.  His heart rises to his throat as the sensation returns; the sickening anticipation he felt just before he bested a foe.  Yes, its blood would be his, he would bathe in the creatures remains, turning its insides into its outsides as he took in the sweet aroma.

A sharp pain sears through his side as his fist sails through the empty air.  Blood seeps from the wound almost immediately, soaking through his shirt and running down his skim.  His knees give out, buckling under the pain as he presses a hand to the wound.  Red spills between his fingers as he tries to stop the bleeding.  He looks to the beast, watching as it shakes the bloody scrap of his shirt and coat from its claws.  His gaze meets the creature’s, and he shudders.

There was nothing behind those eyes, not a souls behind the burning coals. The spark of life was gone, absent from the creature’s being.  This thing had no desire to feed or defend itself as the creatures of Yharnam did.  As vicious as they were, they lived for their own twisted sense of self preservation.  This creature, this thing, it sought none of that.  It meant to kill. To this thing, he was merely another target.

Pushing himself to his feet, the Hunter takes a clumsy step back.  He looks down at himself; the blood had already stained his pant leg, soaking into dirt where he once knelt.  His vision twists and turns in on itself.  He wouldn’t remain standing for much longer. 

'CRACK'

The Hunter looks up, watching as the creature rubs its head and turns.  He follows its gaze to the base of the tree.  The little girl stands defiantly, a stone gripped tightly in her small hand.

"Leave him alone!" She shouts, chucking the stone.  It strikes the creature’s head, cracking the skull mask.  It snarls at the girl, lowering down to all fours and stalking towards her as she ducks behind the tree.

_No_

                The Hunter stumbles forward, forcing himself to remain upright with each step.  It just needed to bleed.  All he needed to do was wound it; to feel its blood splash against him, to feel his skin tighten as the wound seals.  He just needed to make it bleed.

Biting back the pain, the Hunter springs his fist forward.  His knuckles dig into the creature’s side, knocking it down.

Now.

He dashes around the beast, arm reeling back as he stops in front of it.  Pain sears through his side as his arm shoots forward, tearing into the creature’s throat.  He feels the hot, slimy tissues writhing around his hand as he pushes further.  His fingers wrap around something solid, and pulls.  He wrenches his arm to the side, tearing the creature’s innards from their home and knocking it back.  Black smoke sprays from the wound as the Hunter drops to his knees, his body going numb.

_It... didn’t bleed?_

He looks to the creature, lying limp on its back as its body begins to disperse, pieces of its skin rising like ash as the corpse shrinks. This was no beast. As much as it looked like one, this creature was far different from anything he’d find lurking the Yharnam streets.

The Hunter stands, taking a shaky step towards the nearest tree.  He leans against it, legs still shaking beneath the strain. He glances downward, hissing as he pulls his hand from the wound.  Immediately he looks away.  It was bad.

"Are you okay?"

The Hunter looks towards the voice, pushing the thought of his injuries to the back of his mind as the little girls walks up to him.  Her brow creases as she steals a glance at the Hunter’s wound.

"I'm fine," He lies, wincing as he pushes himself from the tree. "Only a scratch,"

The girl looks down at her feet, rocking back and forth.  Her mouth opens and closes, as though she were unsure of what to say.

"Are you unharmed?" The Hunter asks, breaking the painful silence. The girl nods quickly, her eyes still glancing at his side.

"Good."

More silence.

"My Papa's a doctor," She says, "He can help you; he always helps me when I get hurt."

_A doctor, huh? Doesn't seem like a bad idea._

"You and your Father, where do you live?"

"Our village is right by the river,"

_I Knew it'_

"Could you…” He pauses, steadying himself as the world twists around him.  “Could you take me there?"

She nods.

"This way," The girl says, turning and walking towards the stream. The Hunter follows, doing his best to keep up.  The two make their way through the trees in silence, soon reaching the creek the Hunter had awoken in.

"Thank you for helping me," The girl says, "I thought that monster was gonna eat me."

"He might've," The Hunter sighs. "Though you seem to have had a proper understanding of its capabilities."

"What?"

"You knew you'd be safe in the tree."

"Oh,"

The two continue walking along the creek, the Hunter watching it closely as it begins to deepen.

"Thank you," He says, his eyes affixed on the path ahead, "For helping me too, that was very brave of you."

"Your welcome," The girl responds cheerfully. He glances down at her, catching the flash of a kind smile.

They walk the rest of the way in silence, chewing through the distance as quickly as they could manage. Feeling his vision sway once again, the hunter removes his coat, tying the sleeves tightly around his waist. The left sleeve was ruined, soaked with blood and saliva. The same could be said for the sleeve of his shirt; the white cloth now a stained a dark maroon. He rips the sleeve of, pulling it tight and wrapping it around his arm. A fresh red stain spreads beneath the fabric.

Soon the forest begins to clear, the volume of trees slowly decreasing before disappearing entirely. Rooftops began to rise from the ground as they reach the crest of the hill, growing taller and higher in volume in number. The Hunter feels his stomach knot; this town was larger than what he was expecting.

Continuing forward, the two cut onto the stone road leading to the villages entrance. A single sentry stands guard, fingers curled around his weapon.

The sentry spots the two as they approach.  His grip on his weapon tightens, but he doesn't draw.

"Who goes there?" He calls out, taking a step towards them. The Hunter steps in front of the girl, placing himself between her and the guard.

"Mr. Lee, it's me." The girl answers, leaning out from behind the Hunter's back. "It's me, Luna."

"Luna?" He repeats, shocked. "Thank god."

Several people begin to gather, attracted by the commotion.  A crowd quickly forms as they swarm the two, villagers hugging the girl and crying joyfully. The Hunter backs away, his stomach knotting at the density of the crowd and the volume of their voices. His vision blurs and his head begins to lighten.  The world twists around him as his knees dig into the ground.  He looks up, rubbing his eyes.

His blood runs cold.

A mob of Yharnamites surround him, drawing closer as they hurl their foul-mouthed abuse at him. Blood drips from the lesions on their hair covered skin, staining their already filthy clothes. He looks past them, eyes widening in horror as he stares up at the Paleblood moon.  Why were they here? He left that damned city behind, he shouldn’t be here!

"Get away from me," The Hunter shouts, his voice shaking as he pushes himself back from the mob.  His head throbs, pressure building behind his eyes.  They draw closer, tightening the circle they had formed around him.  They ready their weapons; axes raised, pitchforks angled downward.

"Get away," The Hunter repeats.  His body shakes as his head grows heavier.  His limbs fail him, weighed down by fear and fatigue.

"Get...Away…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how was that? Leave a kudos or a comment telling me what you guys think. See y'all in a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> So, how did y'all like that? Not too bad? Somewhat decent? Or was it complete trash? Please leave some comments, hopefully I'll improve.  
> Also, i didn't realize that comment moderation meant I had to approve what was commented. Now that that's fixed, feel free to comment away.


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